


The Last Anniversary

by kiki_bunny



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-11
Updated: 2013-07-11
Packaged: 2017-12-19 03:59:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/879199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiki_bunny/pseuds/kiki_bunny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“It’s not so bad. Dying, that is.” Mama remarked, and though we all knew what was happening, hearing it so bluntly still caught me off guard and made my chest ache that much more, “I don’t think there’s much more to do even if we had more time. Isn’t that right, Ber?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Last Anniversary

**Author's Note:**

> I posted this a while ago, and wasn't too pleased with it. I'm still not, but people seemed to enjoy it nonetheless. I can't quite place where the story is wrong, but if someone sees it, point it out to me please!

It was painful watching the years etch into their faces, creasing the lines of decades of happiness and sadness. In the same breath that it was sad, it was also a melancholy kind of beautiful, knowing that they had lived such long lives in the shelter of each other’s arms, never knowing the heartache of lost love with the other eternally by their side.

However, all good things must end. My beloved parents were reaching the end of a long lifetime. I should have counted myself lucky—so many children were left parentless so young, and here I was, a man of forty-seven and married with little ones of my own, still longing for the comfort of my parents’ home.

Yet, today, this home held little comfort for me. I stared at the sickly pale of my father’s face and the deep bruises underlining my Mama’s eyes. I fidgeted in the chair next to the bedside, the smell of age and staleness thick in the air. Through the haze of illness, I could still smell the natural scent of my childhood but I simply could not take comfort in it. The radio played an old, soft melody that I had heard so many times before, and the nostalgia did nothing to quell the torrent of emotion in my chest.

Mama stopped humming along slowly with the familiar tune and fixed me with a half-scolding, half-sad look, “Oh, Peter,” he began, his wrinkled eyes still mirthful despite his state, “Don’t look so scared. It’s a part of life, you know.” He rasped, words slow and shaky despite their uplifting nature.

Dad simply grunted his agreement—never a man of many words, but he never needed to be. Mama could do all the talking for everyone in the room. He still could, even though the words came out shaky and he coughed if he spoke too much. All the years of his nervous smoking habit were coming back to haunt him, I suppose.

“It’s not so bad. Dying, that is.” Mama remarked, and though we all knew what was happening, hearing it so bluntly still caught me off guard and made my chest ache that much more, “I don’t think there’s much more to do even if we had more time. Isn’t that right, Ber?”

Dad nodded wordlessly, nestling closer to Mama’s side, though they were already pressed as tightly as they could without hurting each other. Mama’s blunt statement about it obviously made him a bit nervous too.

“You know, Peter, you turned out really well.” It was an out of the blue statement, and I almost laughed at the absurdity of the placement, “I don’t think we tell you how proud we are of you enough.”

I did laugh at that, “You tell me all the time that you’re proud of me,” I corrected quietly, and Mama waved it off with a laugh.

“Still not ‘nough.” Dad mumbled, the first words he’d spoken in a few hours. He let his cheek rest against the top of Mama’s head.

Mama let out a heaving, painful sounding sigh. His eyes sagged closed for a moment. “Peter, sweetie, could you get me some water?” He asked, as sweetly as ever. I nodded quickly and stood, hearing his laugh follow behind me as I made my way to the kitchen, “That’s the great thing about being sick—people do everything for you.” He joked lightly, and my father chuckled lowly.

I, too, chuckled despite myself. Trust it to Mama to make light of such a dismal situation. That was the way he always was—situations with too much emotion made him uncomfortable. I filled up the glass with filtered water and made my way back into the bedroom.

I could feel the difference as soon as I walked in. There was a lack of energy in the room and my heart gave a painful jolt. I slowly made my way to the side of the bed, noting with a sinking heart that the sound of labored breathing no longer filled the air with its sweet cadence and the blankets over their chest no longer rose and fell in time with steady breaths.

I drew in a nervous breath, looking to their faces for any indication of life. A lifetime of happiness glimmered on their too-still faces, Mama’s head on Dad’s shoulder, and Dad’s cheek pressed to the snow-white hair that used to be the most vibrant blonde.

They could have been sleeping, as peaceful as they looked. I knew better, though, and a part of me felt a bit lighter. There was no longer the sound of wet, pained breathing or rattling coughs bouncing off the walls—only the old, romantic melody of my parents’ song playing on what seemed to be an endless loop.

I gripped their entwined cold and wrinkled hands in my own, imagining that they were holding my hands back. I thought of every moment in my life with them that I took for granted; high school graduation, college graduation, birthdays, Christmases, lazy Sundays watching television together, huddled on the couch like a family of birds… 

And I missed them already.


End file.
